


What Are Those?

by tklivory



Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Cullrian [9]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Silly, Socks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-07-19 23:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: This is a series of ficlets for Cullrian I'll periodically be writing and uploading here. The release schedule will not be regular, so subscribing is recommended. These ficlets will all be based on prompts or passing fancies which catch my interest, and will be of varying length.





	1. What Are Those?

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter was inspired by these particular affronts to fashion:  
>   
> Poor Dorian...

The argument was silly, and they both knew it. But it had been a long day, and Halward had left _another_ of those annoying voicemail messages, and the humidity had spiked to somewhere over 1000% which made the temperature hover somewhere around 'rage demon preferred'. Self-control had frayed for both of them, but it _had_ been Dorian who had snapped first, that much he would grudgingly admit later.

Still, that didn't absolve Cullen from the heinous crime he committed in response the next morning.

It took Dorian a few moments to notice them after he sat down on the couch at a decorous distance suitable for the pre-apology stage following a fight. Once he did, however, he couldn't stop staring until finally he asked, "What. Are. _Those."_

Cullen glanced down. "My new socks. Do you like them?"

Dorian's face twisted into a grimace. He'd never seen anything quite so _ugly,_ or...well, not to put a fine point on it, _straight._ "Those are quite likely the most hideous things I have ever seen."

"They're comfortable," Cullen said in an artlessly casual tone which made Dorian's eyes narrow.

"I see." With a frown, Dorian scowled at his new nemeses, trying to put into words why they offended him so very much. "You _do_ recall that Leliana and Josephine are expecting us at their barbecue later?"

"Yup," Cullen said cheerfully. "I won't even have to wear shoes with these on."

"Surely you're not going to _wear_ them there?" Dorian asked, shocked. "The entire neighborhood will be there!"

"Why not?" Cullen asked, giving Dorian a sly sidelong glance. "They're--"

_"Comfortable,"_ Dorian groaned. "Yes. You said." With a delicate shudder, Dorian stood. "I'm going to walk Archie." Which was, in and of itself, a concession, since walking around with the slavering beast of a dog was not usually something he chose to do alone.

"I could do it," Cullen said, beginning to rise himself.

"No. _No,"_ Dorian repeated firmly, practically running to where Archie's leash hung from the wall. "No, you stay there, being... _comfortable."_ Maker forbid Cullen went gallivanting about the neighborhood in those... _things._

Archie, of course, proved quite amenable to the plan of early walkies. Very quickly, Dorian found himself struggling to keep the beast under suitable control, particularly when he was forced to endure the slobbering kisses of said beast with a not-at-all forced smile which he would vehemently deny should anyone actually _ask_ about it. Thus, he was in quite a different mood when he returned home--still a bit put out, of course, as would _anyone_ with a sense of fashion, but resigned to his fate.

After releasing Archie to flop onto his favorite sun-warmed bed by the main windows of the living room, Dorian frowned as a cursory search revealed no sign of his erstwhile sandal-footed partner. "Cullen?"

"In here," came the answer from the kitchen. "I'm just making the bacon crumbles for the baked beans."

Dorian quickly angled his way to the kitchen, coming to a rest on the opposite side of the island in the middle of the kitchen where Cullen stood working at the skillet of bacon, and gave a little sigh as he took in further details of Cullen's... _outfit_. "Really?" he asked in _that tone_ as he looked Cullen up and down, or at least as much as he could see above the island. "I don't think Bull meant you to actually _use_ those."

Cullen gave him a cheerful wink. "I like them. Besides, the hat adds a sort of gravitas, don't you think?"

Lips pursed, Dorian tried not to grudgingly smile at the overly large, wobbly Orlesian cooking hat emblazoned with the words _Kiss the chef_ , then let his eyes drop down to the large wrap-around apron with its painted on abs and a large arrow pointing down embedded with the words _Kiss chef here_. "While normally I appreciate you gallivanting around sans shirt, I do wish you wouldn't wear such... Wait." His eyes suddenly widened. "You're not planning on wearing _those_ to the barbecue, are you?"

With a laugh, Cullen moved the skillet from the hot zone to the side and waited for it to cool a bit before he crumbled it. "I'm fairly sure Bull would get a good laugh out of it."

Dorian buried his face in his hands. _"Festis bei umo canavarum."_

A crunching sound announced the fate of the bacon as Cullen replied smoothly, "I love you, too. Now are you going to help me with this or not?"

"I'll get the beans," Dorian said with a sigh. Moving to the fridge, he pulled the beans out from where they'd been sitting overnight marinating in their sauces, and brought it over to Cullen. "You're a frightful beast, I hope you realize. I don't know what Josie and Viv will think, seeing you in that ensemble."

Cullen gave a little shrug as he sprinkled the bacon on the beans. "It can't be worse than the time Sera wore plaideweave to her own wedding." 

Dorian paused for a moment. "But that _fit_ her," he grudgingly conceded. In truth, Sera had looked absolutely adorable, especially when he'd gotten close enough to see the bees worked into the pattern of the plaid itself.

Picking up the beans, Cullen said, "And I think these fit me."

Dorian rubbed his forehead for a moment. "They fit you, they just look--"

And the words died in his mouth.

It _might_ have been because he couldn't summon up words to describe how utterly ridiculous the hat and apron looked, and would only look moreso paired with a pair of socks designed to look like sandals. It _might_ have been due to that, in some other world and some other place and time.

It _this_ place and time, and in _this_ world, the words flickered and died as Cullen turned around and opened the oven door, bending over and putting the beans inside with one smooth motion before shutting it again. Normally such a sight would simply be a mundane affair, a domestic task blending in without notice with all the other small motions of cooking and mutual domesticity, marked only by a clandestine admiration on the part of Dorian concerning _that ass_ as the muscles drew taut beneath whatever cloth happened to cover them that day.

_Normal,_ however, also included pants. And underwear. Both of which were very much _not_ there at present _._ Only the hat, the apron, and the sandal socks were there.

Dorian's mouth snapped shut as Cullen turned to face him with a grin. "There. They'll be cooking for a while. What shall we do in the meantime?"

Dorian scowled fiercely at him, even as he rounded the island between them. "You are very dull, and I hate you," he breathed as his hands landed on Cullen's hips.

Cullen's lips spread into a cocky smirk. "I know," he said as his hands traveled up Dorian's arms. "Though if you really don't like something I wear, you're always free to remove them."

"Oh, I plan to do so with great _vigor,"_ Dorian growled at him. _"After_ I do what they tell me to do." His lips found Cullen's with a gentle humor befitting the silliness of the conversation, but the tenderness quickly deepened into something far more passionate. As their lips parted, Dorian reached up and grabbed the hat, tossing it onto a nearby counter.

"And the apron?" Cullen asked, a tad breathless.

Dorian let his hand follow the arrow down the apron, grinning as he found Cullen already waiting and eager for another kiss. "That might take a little _longer,"_ he suggested, then tugged the apron up as he dropped to his knees.

But then, some kinds of kisses deserved to be done _properly._

And, as it turned out, sandal socks provided just enough friction for Cullen to endure even the most rigorous of apologies, despite the slickness of the kitchen tiles.


	2. What Is That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another sock story! Just not quite how you might have imagined it. Also: special Halloween story for October!

It was October. Which meant Halloween. And _that_ meant that Dorian was disgruntled. In fact he was as far from gruntled as it was possible to get without coming out the other said and ascending into a state of gruntlehood which would make even the most sour mood elevate into sheer, transcendent joy.

Part of it was the house. One of the agreements he and Cullen had reached when they became roommates was that Cullen could 'have' the house for October, since Halloween was his favorite holiday, and Dorian could have it for December, because New Year's Eve (and the partying that went with it) was _his_ favorite holiday. Sadly, Dorian had vastly underestimated the sheer amount of tchotchkes which could be acquired in the pumpkin, skeleton, ghost, and bat shapes in all sorts of varying shades like orange, black, and, for a bit of flair, white.

_And it had taken over the entire house._

Cobwebs on the bathroom mirrors. A skeleton hanging from the showerhead. Fake cobwebs lining the halls and the stair railing. Windows temporarily darkened with black curtains or witch halves smashed against them. Even the kitchen, normally Dorian's haven, had been transformed into a monstrous melange of ghouls and goblins.

It had been their first fight, one they quickly recovered from and called truce over, and the second year had been an improvement. At least the kitchen and Dorian's bathroom were off limits to being turned into Halloween Town on every day but Halloween itself, which was when Cullen would throw the only party he threw all year.

And Maker's sweet ass-ridden _balls_ did Cullen know how to throw a party.

There were always at least one hundred people who showed up throughout the evening, wearing costumes that, as far as Dorian could tell, were designed to win the coveted Most Outlandish Costume Ever award. Krem and Bull had shown up the first year as a Bull with his Matador, complete with Krem leading Bull around by the iron ring in his nose--at least, until a trio of girls from the nearby college had led Bull right into the guest bedroom and proceeded to do things that even Dorian didn't want to contemplate. Leliana had shown up as Elizabeth I, complete with four-foot tall hair and a dress that he _still_ didn't believe actually fit in her car short of magic. Varric had shown up as an incredibly detailed Indiana Jones meets Dracula crossover costume, and spent the whole evening telling the worst stories with a Transylvanian accent as he stroked the hair on his chest. Even Josephine had let down her hair--literally--and shown up wearing nothing but a bikini and a python.

In fact, Leliana and Josie had left together that night.

At any rate, Dorian had endured two parties; surely he could endure another. Aside from October, Cullen was a marvelous roommate, after all: clean, always on time or early with the rent, never encroached into Dorian's room, and, of course, devastatingly handsome.

Or was that a drawback? Or was it only a drawback because Cullen seemed breezily unaware of Dorian's growing and remarkably persistent crush?

Regardless, Halloween had come, and now Dorian was huddling in his room once more wondering if he should make the effort to enjoy the party or sulk in his bedroom again. He hated the choice, and hated his father more for sapping all joy from a relatively harmless holiday, even though he knew it was silly to hate either just because he was disgruntled.

With a sigh, Dorian rubbed his face as he considered what he could do. There was always his computer, of course, though the internet was absolutely rife with Halloween _everything_ on tonight of all nights. He could do some work--there was always work, of course. Or he could lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling while he listened to other people having a good time.

And, knowing himself as well as he did, that's probably what he would end up doing.

When the knock sounded on his door, he started and blurted out, "Come in!" before he could think better of it.

The door opened to allow Cullen's head to poke through the doorway. "People will start arriving in about an hour. Last chance to come grab some snacks before the hullabaloo starts."

Dorian chuckled as he rolled onto his feet and stretched. "Right. Yes, capital idea."

Cullen walked away, though his voice echoed down the hall. "I got some of that Pumpkin Spice Ale you refuse to admit you like," he called back. "A full case just for you."

That made Dorian blush a bit, both that Cullen had remembered, and that Cullen was teasing him about it. He strode through the door, intending to give as good as he got. "I'll have you know that I only enjoy that ale on an _ironic_ level--which means--Uh..." Dorian stopped and stared as Cullen continued down the stairs.

_Surely I'm seeing things._

Hurrying forward, he plastered himself against the railing as he watched Cullen head into the kitchen, then hurriedly descended the stairs himself and chased after him. "Cullen!"

"Hmm?" Cullen asked. "Oh, is it the hair? It's not _too_ red, is it?"

Dorian gestured towards the _actual_ problem, which, while vastly enjoyable, certainly deserved at least a comment. "Your...uh...costume."

"Oh, this?" Cullen looked down. "It's a bit dated, but I think most people will get the reference, right? I mean, chili peppers are red, that's why my hair is--"

"I think it's more the...sock," Dorian ventured, unable to take his eyes off it. After all, it was the only thing Cullen was wearing, and it _definitely_ wasn't where a sock was normally worn. In fact, it was quite a bit higher than that.

A grin slowly came to Cullen's face. "The sock."

"Or...maybe the fact that it's only...one sock?" Dorian suggested.

Cullen's grin grew into a downright dastardly smirk. "Why don't you take it off, then?"

Dorian resisted the urge to knock his ear with one hand. "Pardon?"

"Here, I'll help." Cullen grabbed Dorian's hand and placed it on the lone sock, helpfully wrapping Dorian's fingers around what was inside the sock as well. Stepping forward, he settled his hand on Dorian's hip and murmured, "Nice and slow. You wouldn't want to damage anything down there, would we?"

Much later, whenever the subject of when they first started dating would inevitably rise, Dorian and Cullen would simply exchange a glance and grin before giving their answer:

_A sock._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you want to know more about Cullen's supposed costume, [read this!](https://www.radiox.co.uk/artists/red-hot-chili-peppers/pictures/awesome-pictures-red-hot-chili-peppers-nostalgia/red-hot-chili-peppers-anthony-kiedis-sock-2000/)


End file.
